Joys of the Flesh
by Pavlov's Daughter
Summary: In one moment, with one decision, lives can change forever. Kay based, but ALW and Leroux friendly. EC, angst. Not an alteration or continuation...simply an explanation.
1. Prologue: Lead Me

**A/N:** _My first Kay-based Phantom story. This is not a continuation, nor an alteration…it is more of an explanation, if you will. Though mainly centered around Susan Kay's novel, it has some influence from ALW (lyrics, phrases, etc.), so any Phantom phan should be able to enjoy this. Physical descriptions can be from any version you desire…though I do make reference to Erik's golden eyes, which is directly taken from Leroux and Kay. Told from Christine's point of view; takes place after Erik and Christine's narration, during the climax of the novel…just before they kiss._

**P.S: **_Reviews are greatly appreciated!_

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**PROLOGUE: _LEAD ME_**

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How many times in my mind had I made love to those wonderfully haunting eyes, wishing desperately the beauty that shown out from the golden irises had been reflected on his entire persona?

More times, I imagine, than I could count.

My God, how this man before me had frightened my inner child. There was no questioning his authority when one looked upon him, dressed wholly in black save the ghostly porcelain mask upon his face. He radiated an awesome power, one even he had trouble controlling.

As he did now.

I had seen him lose him temper… Lord knows he did it quite often. But for the first time in my life since I had first looked upon my Angel, I feared for my _physical_ being. He was quickly, desperately becoming disconnected from reality. I saw a horrifying madness overtake those wonderfully alluring eyes, and although I was sure that while in his right mind he would never hurt me, I began to back away from him, slowly and cautiously.

"I don't want your pity or your fear…" he hissed at me.

Erik…Erik… You know as well as I that you have always had my fear; you have glorified by the submission of my senses whenever you were around. You have relished in that power, taken a noxious, poisonous pride in it…I have seen it in your eyes. But my pity… No, Erik. You deserve so much, but not _that._ Not such a degrading emotion as _pity._

You are too acquainted with the world's cruelties for any sort of feeble pity on my part.

But perhaps there is something else you need.

_"I don't want you!"_

These words stopped me in my tracks. We met each other's gaze uncertainly, and I saw something in him that I had never seen before. Something that made my breaking heart throb relentlessly against my throat. I tried to hide the despair in my eyes, but Erik was too clever to be fooled by my feeble masquerade. The desperation that crossed my face betrayed me.

"What do you want?" I whispered tentatively. "Erik, please…tell me what you want."

He turned from me, as if my presence before him was unbearable. He steadied himself of the mantle, and I watched his long, sensual fingers caress the wood. My hand trailed over the arm of his leather couch, and I was met by a veil. Curious…I had not seen it lying there before. Almost without my awareness, I picked it up and placed it on my head. My legs drifted towards the shadowy figure before me, carrying me forwards with a lingering apprehension.

He sensed my presence and turned sharply, his eyes burning holes into my skin. I saw a subtle flickering in emotions cross his face, changing from guarded anger to startled sorrow. Perhaps it was then I realized that even if Raoul and I should make it out of here together, I would never be free of those eyes. My breathing became rapid, labored, irregular.

Would my connection with this man be that Hell I had made it out to be? I was no longer so sure.

His gaze was locked on the veil that covered my face, and I understood: He felt guilty.

Oh Erik, do not mourn the loss of my innocence. I am not, nor have I ever been, worthy of your tears. Please, Erik…bask in my new found revelation. I believe now I am ready.

With dawning expectation, I drew back the lace. I hesitated before reaching up to his mask, feeling the immense coldness of the porcelain beneath my fingers, and let it fall onto the carpet between us. His face was no longer horrible; in its strange existence, it was almost sublime, as if it were too beautiful for my meager human mind to ever hope to understand.

Our eyes met, his disbelieving, mine in suspense, and I trailed my hands over his shoulders. For a moment we did not move, as my mind barraged my heart with piercing questions of logic.

But I had thrown logic to the wind.

"Take me…" I murmured into his ear, my voice unusually low and pleading. _"Teach me…"_

I pushed myself up onto my toes and pressed my lips to his. In those first few instants, I felt the utter shock pulsate through him. Then, as I deepened the kiss, he realized.

I chose _him._

And it was not because of Raoul.

It was so unlike anything I had experienced before…this sudden wave of passion and desire. My tongue met his, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard his delicious, glorious music. For the first time, I was not the innocent student of my all-knowing tutor. _I_ was teaching this master of the arts the beauty of physical, undeniable tenderness, _I_ was showing him that he could be loved.

But in those moments, it was he who bound himself to me, and I knew my heart would never again truly be my own.

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Cruel fate, why do you mock me? Have I angered you in my decision with my readiness to obey the callings of my soul? Yes, surely that must be it…to abandon the purity of young romance for the beautiful paradox of my union with darkness is to abandon the ageless fairytale ending. And this must contradict all understandings of black and white.

Erik and I.

This must be why you had me leave with Raoul…

Well, my dear Fate, it seems you have been bested a power outside your control…the power of a heart-driven promise.

They had been so quick, those moments after time stopped. I remember seeing Raoul stumble from the hidden room and hearing Erik's melodious voice. My senses were intoxicated by the bittersweet seduction of his dexterous fingers as they entwined themselves with mine, slowly and carefully. "I would like you to marry her as soon as possible."

Wait…it was _Erik_ who spoke such words. I stared at him…perhaps I had misheard. When I tried to question him, he placed one long, pale finger to my mouth, and I savored his skin as it once again touched my lips. "There's nothing more to say," he said simply.

Taking Raoul's perfectly sculpted hand gently by the wrist, he placed it over my own, joining us together in a symbol of unceremonious matrimony. I looked up at him in shock, and I watched as, for the first time, Erik cried in my presence. He was silent, but I understood.

And I loathed it with all my being.

He did not speak directly to me again, instead turning to Raoul and asking him to bring me back the day before our wedding, as to bid farewell before I am married. _Marriage…_ How pathetic and worthless the word sounded to my ears. He dropped our hands and turned back to the darkening shadows that were slowly encompassing us. I flew towards him desperately, my voice suddenly unable to work. Raoul caught me by the arms, pulling me to him. I watched in dawning horror as he left me, no backward glances.

Fate denied me the strength to surrender all I had worked so hard for…this man who held me protectively to his chest. Erik had relinquished me, and I did not have the courage to confront him and receive the sacrificial rejection that he would assuredly give me.

Then the tears began to flow.

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**A/N: **_This is a fairly short prologue...I'm not sure how long the chapters will be. Bear with me here._  



	2. In This Labyrinth

**A/N:** _Just a quick note to everyone- Raoul's behavior in this chapter is taken from **Phantom**…so if you're a fop-lover, don't blame me! Also, sorry this update took so long...I had my big sophomore English project due on Friday, and I was a tad stressed out about it...  
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**P.S:** _Also, thanks to my reviewers! You guys rock! Oh, and one more thing…the 'T' rating will come into effect either at the end of the next chapter or the whole way through the one after that, just to let everyone know. And if that confused you, just ignore it and start reading._

**IN THIS LABYRINTH **

I know what people called me in those weeks of solitude; I know how Raoul's servants whispered amongst themselves after leaving my chamber, speaking in hushed voices and glancing at me when they came through that door, waiting for something to happen. They thought me mad.

Perhaps I was.

The wedding was scheduled a few days later; a vague nod on my part was all Raoul required for his interpretation of my approval. In a few weeks, I was to become a Comtesse, married _(my God, would the term remain foreign to my ears for the rest of my life?)_ to a wealthy, handsome young man who devoted every waking moment to fulfilling the zenith of my desires…

And I longed for another.

I must be the most ungrateful woman in Paris…any other girl in my position would be overwhelmed with pure, wordless delight. But I spent my time in my room, alone, singing to myself…and thinking of _him._

_Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with me._

_Blessed art thou with women…_

It never seemed necessary to continue those lines…I do not even understand the logic behind my unfounded obsession. Those weeks seem blurred and oblique to me now, as if I was remembering some dream I once had, instead of my life…as if I looked through a mirror…

In those lingering days before my scheduled wedding, I felt a strange combination of engraved dread and hesitant anticipation…anticipation not for the marriage itself, but for the day before… _damn _my own pitiful insincerity when I looked into Raoul's eyes and said I loved him.

_But I did,_ I argued with myself. I _did_ love Raoul…how could I not? He would have given me the world had he possessed it. Maybe my hesitation was founded in the fact that the universe itself had been offered to me, but in my fear, I had denied its provider…

I had not written the wedding invitation with the intention of hiding its contents from my fiancé. His congenial hospitality and utter devotion to me over the past month had been so admirable, and some part of me tried to reprimand the connection I shared with Erik. But I continued to think relentlessly of him, and when the day before my wedding arrived, my heart was pounding with eagerness.

I took a seat at my ornate writing desk, true to the popular French style with its fancy gold paint and curved wooden legs. All the other invitations had been written on a pure white paper in silky black ink, the Chagny crest imprinted on the bottom left-hand corner. When I wrote Erik's, I used blood red lettering on a rich cream-colored parchment, no decoration to speak of. I did not think Erik would approve of such wasted extravagance…

Erik had requested I bring one on the day of my return, so he could _'add it to his collection,'_ he had said. A collection of wedding invitations seemed quite out of the ordinary for Erik, but with one as unexplainable and mysterious as he, I knew not to question his hobbies or interests. Perhaps he did indeed have a drawer full of letters… And so I began the note as I had all the others.

_"The Vicomte Raoul Philippe François de Chagny and the Mademoiselle Christine Marguerite Daaé cordially request your presence at…"_

I could not, I _would_ not will myself to continue with such detached emotion…not for Erik. I watched in powerless awe as my hand began to increase in its rapidity, soon flying across the page, writing with an overwhelmingly fervent passion that I was not aware I possessed. _'My life is now empty without my Angel…music in my mind…my heart is yours…'_

_Christine…_

I stopped, my fingers trembling as the pen finished signing my name. As I stared at the words, it felt as though I were reading the personal thoughts of another, going through someone else's private journal. Tears crested the corners of my eyes, the back of my throat stinging and clenched. I wiped a single, shaking finger over the dark bags under my eyes.

The echoing slam of the front door announced Raoul's arrival. Quickly I folded up the letter and shoved it into an envelope in haste before running a hand down my dress, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in the deep scarlet velvet. With the note clutched in my fingers, I turned to face the door, wiping my sweating palms against my skirt.

A curt but gentle rapping sounded at my door, and without waiting for a response, Raoul strode into my chambers. His eyes flickered to the paper in my hand, and I bowed my head meekly. I looked up hesitantly, meeting his eyes, and I could tell by his expression that he had not missed the brimming excitement that shone from my eyes. My gaze fell upon the bouquet of flowers that now lay flaccidly at his side, and my guilt deepened.

"It is time for us to go back," I murmured. "Remember?" I wanted him to come with me, I wanted him there so I would not give into that calling that had haunted me during those long, sleepless nights. Bewilderment crossed his smooth, flawless face, and he took a hesitant step towards me.

_"What?"_

I was beginning to lose my nerve. "You said…Erik…"

In two fluid steps, he crossed the room and put his hands on my shoulders, his delicate features lined with confusion and clouded anger, and he shook me back and forth roughly. I pulled away from Raoul, staring at him in shock, eyes wide. _What exactly had I done to this man…?_

"You're not going back there…" he breathed, chest heaving. "You must be _mad_ if you think you're going back…"

"But you promised him," I said, my voice low and barely recognizable. "You promised _me."_

"The man is _insane!"_ Raoul roared, throwing the dozen carnations across the room. I watched as they hit the wall, pink and white petals scattered aimlessly across the carpet. "Of _course_ I promised to bring you back to him! If I hadn't, he would have killed us _both!_ Can't you understand that…?"

"He would never hurt me," I whispered. "Never." Slowly I sank into my chair, staring at the flames that danced in the fireplace. "I'm going," I told him. "I'm going with or without you."

With a swiftness that made me start, Raoul leaned over and grabbed the letter from my hand. For one horrifying moment, I though he was going to open it, read it…learn my secret. Instead, he began to rip it apart until he held a dozen tiny pieces of parchment in him hand. Looking me straight in the eyes, he tossed the shreds into the blazing fire.

"If you go see him…" Raoul whispered, his voice shaking. "Your _invitation_ would be for a wedding that would not exist. " Without another word, he left my room, slamming my chamber door shut.

I sat alone in the shadows, listening to the faint sounds of his carriage pulling away down the street. I shuddered despite the warmth emitted from the fireplace. Glancing out the window, I watched the bare branches of the trees shiver in the wintry Parisian wind.

_"Christine…"_

I stood from my seat on the little velvet chair and drifted towards my cabinet. Upon opening it, my eyes were drawn to the small, black leather journal sitting in the corner of the darkened shelf. I pulled it out and opened it, running my fingers over the familiar cream-colored parchment between the covers. I snapped the book shut and left the room.

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No one cast me strange looks as I ascended the escalair of the Opera Garnier. No one questioned my intentions, no one even gave me a second glance. I was simply another passerby on the crowded streets of Paris. The sun was setting against the horizon, the sky painted a deep blood red, hints and whispers of gray-black streaking the heavens.

The undeniable symbolism of the approaching shadows of night was not lost to me.

As I wandered through the halls, I was suddenly hit with the awareness that this place…it was not familiar to me at all. It was if I walked through the corridors of a stranger's house, even though I had called the Opera house my home for a good third of my life.

My dressing room was unoccupied, a light layer of dust coating the furniture that sat, empty and forgotten, against the corners of the room. My eyes were immediately drawn to the wide, floor-length mirror that stood dauntingly in the center of the wall. Almost as if drawn by an unseen force, my feet carried me towards the glass. Slowly I reached out my fingers to the frame, trembling as I touched the wooden paneling in a soft caress.

I remembered…I remembered everything. It's not that I had forgotten…but still, the intense, almost overwhelming sensation of reminiscence flooded my mind. I recalled the first time I heard my Angel, the first time since the death of my father that I had not felt alone. I had knelt before the mirror- as I did now, without realizing- in an act of pure humility. My cheek pressed against the glass, and my eyes closed.

_"I always believed in you…I always believed in you…"_ I whispered. _"Forgive me…"_

The mirror swung open on its pivot, and I was pitched forward onto the ground, landing on my hands and knees. A pair of feet loomed in my sight before me, and upon looking up, I found the face that swam a million miles above me to be shrouded in shadows. "Erik…?" I murmured, squinting.

The man stepped forward, and I knew immediately that he was not Erik. He was about a head shorter, and his face was framed by a mass of graying, dark brown hair. I felt him survey me with a critical gaze, but when he stepped into the light, I saw benevolence glinting in his beetle black eyes.

_"I can safely rely on Nadir…"_ Erik had said. _"Isn't it nice to have people about you that you can really trust, Christine? Nadir was a good friend to me once upon a time… Once upon a time…"_

"Monsieur Nadir…" I choked out, my voice caught in my throat.

He pulled me to my feet gently before bowing his head in respect. "Mademoiselle Daaé," he said, his words thick with a rich foreign accent. He bit his lip. "It _is_ still Daaé, correct?"

I set my mouth into a firm line, lips tightly drawn. My stare was bright with defiance at this accusing question. "I gave him my word, Monsieur," I replied resolutely. "I would not go back on that."

Again, that moment of uncertainty. "He was not expecting you, Mademoiselle…" he said.

His tone set off warning bells in my head. "What happened?" I demanded. "Where is Erik?"

"I fear Erik is… He had another seizure, and afterward he told me… You know his knowledge of medicine and health is infallible…" Clearly there was something man did not want to tell me.

"What is it? Please, Monsieur…" I pleaded, desperation glowing in my eyes. _"What happened to Erik?"_

"He's dying." I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with the curt wave of his hand. "Erik says that if he goes into another seizure, he will not wake up." I had no response, so I remained silent. Nadir ran a large, dark hand through his hair. "He told you half-a-year, correct?"

_"It wouldn't be for very long…six months and you would be a young widow, free to make a true marriage…"_

I nodded.

"I'm afraid that was a bit of an …" Nadir swallowed with difficulty. "…An exaggeration…"

I took a careful, guarded stride towards him, and without thinking he stepped back, away from my burning stare. "How long?" I whispered. He turned his gaze to the damp, stone ground.

"His time is limited," he said vaguely. "If God is merciful…only a day or so." He did not look me in the eyes as he said this.

The color had been slowly draining from my face during our conversation, and when he spoke of Erik's dawning fate, I felt the last of the blood leave my cheeks. I put my hand to my throat and rubbed it, fearing that without coaxing, my voice would fail to work. "He is still here?" I asked hoarsely.

Nadir gave me a sad, ironic smile, his gaze trailing over my face. "Mademoiselle…" he began, his voice filled with an exhausted sorrow. "Where else would he go?"

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The journey to Erik's home seemed to take an eternity, each step lasting long enough to allow for a thousand thoughts to cross my mind. I glanced around and saw that the walls were no longer darkly enticing in their Gothic design; instead, I felt a strangely unnerving trepidation in the pits of my stomach as I gazed upon the stone gargoyles and angels. Nadir did not speak to me as we descended into the catacombs. He led me in disquieting, pensive silence, the flickering of his torch casting leering black shadows across our forms.

When we came to the lake, Nadir swept his cloak past his chest, revealing the gondola that floated motionlessly on the vast, glassy surface. He bowed his head as I stepped past him, his black eyes glittering in the darkness. I sat on my knees at the edge of the wooden boat, my gaze turned to the blackened shape of Erik's house. Nadir pushed off the side of the bank, and I glanced back at him for a moment. His eyes, however, were locked on our destination, ignoring my presence completely. Within a few minutes I felt the bottom of the boat scrape against the rocks along the shore in front of the chamber. Nadir jumped into the water, his legs soaked up to the top of his knee-high leather boots, and he waded towards me, taking my hand and helping me onto the dry ground.

The unbroken silence was unnerving…the only sound to be heard was the constant hammering of my heart at my chest, the pounding of blood in my ears. I drifted forward wordlessly, Nadir following closely behind. The front door hung open dauntingly, as if the long, skeletal hands of a menacingly black death would reach out to me through the shadows. I shivered impulsively against the impending chill and stepped inside.

The breath stopped in my throat as my eyes traveled around the room, once so beautiful in its dark majesty. Now, it had been transformed into the very pits of Hell itself. Everything Erik had held dear, anything his dexterous fingers had ever created, lay in ruins on the floor. The music…oh God, the music was ripped into pieces of unreadable, unrecognizable parchment. As I knelt down and gathered some of the scraps, I wondered distractedly if I was holding his masterpiece, his _Don Juan Triumphant_ in the palm of my hand.

I turned to Nadir, my cheeks darkened with tears, and held out my hand. "Why?" I whispered.

The Persian did not answer right away. Instead, his eyes traveled along the walls of slashed velvet, meeting the distorted pile of metal in the corner that I soon recognized as Erik's pipe organ, and finally back into the passages and corridors behind me. He turned back to me, mouth set into a firm line. "He did not want to be remembered," he said. "If you did not return, and he had assumed you would not, he wanted no trace of himself or his genius left in this opera. He said…" Nadir hesitated, sighing to himself and gazing at the ground. "He said that when he died, he wanted to be erased from history, but more importantly, your thoughts."

I stood up, folding my skirts behind me. Meeting his eyes, I stared at him, unblinking. "Take me to him," I said quietly, wrapping my arms around my shoulders and hugging myself tightly. "Let me see him."

He nodded wordlessly, taking me gently by the wrist and pulling me into the approaching shadows of the hallway. We arrived at the door I recognized to be the one that led to the room Erik had deemed my own. Nadir put his hand on the doorknob, but he made no move to open it. Instead he turned to me hesitantly. "Mademoiselle…I must tell you, I know not the condition in which he resides. He was asleep when I left to get the medicine, but that was well before I found you, so…"

I put my hand on his forearm, gripping his sleeve with my fingers. "You were getting _medicine?_" I hissed. "You…you did not continue on this mission? I am perfectly capable of finding my way down here on my own…" My voice was rising steadily, and Nadir cast a wary look at the closed door. "Erik's time is running out…" I moved my other hand to the lapel of his coat. _"Why did you not get his medicine? Why did you desert your task?"_

Nadir's expression did not change. He stared at me, unwavering, and twisted the knob. "I was to get him that which would make him well," he murmured, turning back to the door that was open only a crack. "I did just that." He took me by the arm and pulled me into the room.


	3. Teach Me to Live

**A/N:** _Thirty-five reviews for two chapters? You are too kind! I've received much deliberation about Erik's…condition. I won't address that here… -Looks away, whistling-_

**P.S:** _Here's a quick note that doesn't really matter unless you care what goes on inside my strangely obscure mind… I have always pictured my Eriks being Geriks (or Gerry!Eriks). I am fascinated by the beautiful paradox of his face (except that I picture his deformity actually being a **deformity** and not a third degree sunburn…) I know some phans won't agree with me on my opinions with Gerik, but as I said before, it's what goes on inside my mind. So there are a few brief descriptions that refer to Gerik (e.g. 'sleek, black hair')…but I've always liked Kay/Leroux's "golden eyes," so that stays the way it is. Basically…my Erik is Gerry with really, really cool eyes, but you can picture him anyway you like!_

**P.P.S:**_ One more thing…all the chapter titles for this story will be lyrics from either the ALW movie or play. If you don't know what part a certain phrase is from, ask me in your review, which you all will most certainly be giving me… -Menacing glare- Just kidding…well, sort of…_

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**TEACH ME TO LIVE**

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The presence in that place was overwhelming. For a moment, Nadir and I stood motionless in the doorway, gazing in humble awe at the man before us. He was turned way from the door, away from us, his dark hair gleaming in the flickering flames of the fireplace. His hands were clasped behind his back, and I was overcome by a sudden urge to sink to my knees before him. Surely this man was not _dying,_ I told myself. He radiated such authority, such limitless power…perhaps he had made a mistake. He was, after all, human- an incredible one, albeit- but a human, nonetheless…capable of making errors like the rest of us.

But when he turned to face us, mask sitting securely on his face, I felt the desperate uncertainty in his prognosis evaporate. His eyes…oh God, his eyes… Gone was the burning passion and brilliance that had gazed upon me countless times before. Now, there was only a dull gleam, a mocking and cruel remnant of the former glory he possessed.

This man truly _was_ dying.

For a moment, no one moved. Nadir and I stared at Erik, and Erik…he stared at me. There was no mistaking the utter astonishment in his expression; there was no doubt in my mind that he had, in fact, believed I would not return. I stepped towards him hesitantly, watching his eyes as they watched me. My legs carried me until I was only a few inches from him, and I could feel his warm, shuddering breath as it caressed my cheek.

With trembling hands I reached out to him, running my fingers over the cold white porcelain of his mask. His hands closed over mine, and I saw fearful apprehension in his eyes. I stared back, defiant to his hesitation, and after a moment, he wordlessly relinquished his façade. I put my hand to his cheek, and his eyelids fluttered shut for a brief instant, a sigh escaping his lips.

"You came back," he whispered, as if he did not dare believe it. "You came back…"

"How could I not?" I said, trailing my fingers past his ears and into the blackness of his hair. He did not reply, still staring at me as if he thought I would evaporate before his eyes. I withdrew my hand and opened the small satchel that hung from my shoulder. Reaching inside, I took out a small object and placed it gingerly in the center of Erik's palm. His eyes widened for a second in disbelieving confusion, then he met my gaze, silently asking for an explanation.

"It belonged to my father," I murmured, tracing the small golden ring delicately. He said nothing, his eyes locked on my own. I closed his fingers over it, holding his fist in my small hands.

"This should be on the finger of your fiancé," he said quietly, turning to look at the dancing fire. He held the ring back out to me, hand trembling against the writhing shadows thrown against the wall. "I simply wanted to give you away on the day before your wedding… Why must you make it so difficult?" I saw the single tear escape the corner of his eye.

Once again placing my hand on his cheek, I pulled his face towards my own. "This is _my_ choice to make…" I whispered into his ear. With my other hand I put his fingers to my lips, all the while making sure not to disturb the heated connection of our gaze. The stillness was broken by his sudden shiver that caused his broad shoulders to tremble.

"No, Christine…please…" he said, his voice filled with a desperate pleading. "You cannot… You deserve so much more…" He lifted his hand to my face, not touching me, instead caressing the air beside my cheek. I watched as he fought temptation, fought it with every fiber of his strength. When I felt the smooth touch of his fingers at my skin, I closed my eyes dutifully, sucking the breath into my lungs, lips parted.

I placed my hand over his, entwining our fingers together. I looked up at him with wide, moonlike eyes. "No," I told him, "It is _you_ who deserves more." His palm ran down the graceful curve of my neck, and I shuddered. "I chose you…please do not turn me away again."

He looked once again at the flames as they dipped and twirled with violent, twisted beauty against the approaching darkness. He held his hand out before me with a swiftness that should not have surprised me, and laying next to my father's ring was a simple yet elegant silver wedding band. I knew immediately, without any explanation, that this was the ring Erik had picked out and bought for me those countless months before…

"Monsieur Nadir…" I called hesitantly over my shoulder. The Persian's head snapped up, instantly alert. "Would you…?" He came towards us, glancing between Erik and I.

"Mademoiselle?" he asked, his eyes settling on Erik as he addressed me apprehensively.

"Would you stand here…as a witness?" I placed the mask, suddenly overwhelming in its immensity, into his arms. "As a witness before God?" His eyes flickered to Erik, whose gaze was unwavering from my face. Nadir nodded slowly, disbelief still glimmering in his eyes. "Thank you." I pressed the golden ring into Erik's palm, his fingers closing over it. Slowly, with trembling hands, he pulled the ring onto his fourth finger. I felt the powerful sensuality of his movements hold me steadily as I watched the band fall into place.

He turned his eyes to me, the golden irises calling out to me in the darkness, and placed the silver ring into my palm. When I slipped it onto my finger, I found it to be a perfect fit.

Erik would have had nothing less.

Taking his face gently in my hands, I pulled him down to me, meeting my lips to his forehead. Slowly, carefully, I moved over his skin, feeling every imperfection melt beneath my touch. I kissed his eyelids, first the left, then the right, tasting the bitter sweetness of his tears on my mouth. Following their tracks, I found my way to his mouth.

His response to the union of our lips was deliciously exciting… He pulled me closer to him, wrapping his arms around my body and trailing his fingers over the back of my neck. When we broke apart, I felt his shuddering breath float past my face, his lips mere inches from my cheek.

And there, with no priest and no words, I was married to my Angel.

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I heard Nadir leave the room, but I did not acknowledge his departure. Erik held me to him, stroking my hair and whispering into my ear. The warmth emitted from the glowing fireplace was nothing compared to this sensation that pulsed through my body…a strangely foreign yet beautifully mesmerizing sense of _home._ I buried my head in his chest.

I felt a sudden tremor pass through him, and his fingers dug violently into my back. Horrified, I looked up at him and saw his face, contorted in pain, rapidly draining its color. His hand flew to his chest, clawing at the black jacket that separated flesh from flesh.

He doubled over, falling to one knee before me, and in an instant I was beside him, caught by my sudden terror, my mind blank as to what to do. He reached out to me, pulling me towards him. "It will pass…" he hissed through gritted teeth, voice strained, and I wondered briefly if he was saying this to comfort me or to encourage himself. _"It will pass…"_

Panicking, I turned back to the door, wanting to call out for Nadir, but I felt his strong grip on my shoulder. "No…" he whispered, and I saw him struggle for air, folding his arms across his chest. His breathing had gone rapid and shallow, but the color was returning to cheeks, his face returning to the expression of peace it had been only a few minutes before.

I was thrown back into the reality of his touch, overcome by this haunting glimpse into the future. _This would happen again… _He got to his knees hesitantly, his palms steadied against the wooden floor. I curled myself around his arm, holding him to my breast as a tear slid smoothly down my cheek. "It's not fair… Why _now,_ just when I finally realize that I'm ready?" I sobbed quietly into his sleeve. "You _cannot_ leave me again, Erik…"

He pulled me to him, settling me in his lap as we clutched each other on the cold, numb floor. His hand ran down the length of my hair, his unstable breaths still echoing in my ears. Slowly, I helped him up and led him to the bed, crawling beside him and laying my head on his chest. I felt his heartbeat throb against the inner caverns of my mind, slowly returning to the steady beating of a healthy man. _If only he **were,** _I thought to myself.

For a few moments, we lay there, side by side, both consumed by our own mind's reflections. "Erik?" I whispered, looking up at him.

"Yes?"

I pulled myself up by my elbows, legs folded neatly beneath me. "I brought you something…" Reaching into my bag, I withdrew the black leather journal and held it to my chest.

The faintest of smiles crossed his lips. "No invitation?" he asked, his voice so low that it could have passed for a whisper.

The corners of my mouth turned upward slightly, but my eyes remained distant and somber. "There is no need for an invitation when the wedding will not take place," I murmured.

Erik pushed himself up against the headboard, staring at me. "You and the Vicomte…?" he demanded. I turned my eyes to the deep emerald blanket that stretched across the bed, not replying. "Whose idea was this, Christine?" His voice was hoarse, but the sternness was unmistakable. "Was it his?"

"No… It was ultimately _my_ decision…" I said quietly. Those golden eyes…they demanded truth. And so, truth was what I gave. I told him of my weeks in Raoul's guest home, those days I spent thinking only of my Angel, my Erik…my encounter with what proved to be Raoul's weak point: his pride. I had not forgotten, I had not hurriedly put the ordeal out of my mind… And so, Raoul had viewed my commitment as his own failure.

I told Erik how I had been given a second chance at my decision, and I had chosen correctly.

He was silent for a moment, stroking my hand absentmindedly. When he realized what he was doing, he quickly withdrew his arm, but I pulled him back, entwining my fingers with his. I placed the journal on his lap, my fingertips trailing across the cover. He looked up at me questioningly, but he did not voice his inquiries. By the flickering light of the candle at his bedside, he began to read my innermost thoughts, those details which I could never have said out loud. At times he flipped the pages after only a moment or two, presumably when I had written of Raoul…and yet sometimes he read and reread certain passages, mouthing the words to himself. I settled my head back against his chest once again, finding relief and comfort in the steady ticking of his heartbeat.

After a while my eyes drifted shut, and I dreamt of a voice calling out to me, whispering my name into the darkness…

* * *

**A/N:** _No, it's **not** over…remember, I still have to live up to that rating… Sorry about the brevity of this chapter; the next ones should be longer._


	4. Our Passion Play

**A/N:** _…And we come to the 'T' rating. I am completely against the trashy 'X' sort of stories. Not for Erik and Christine. But with Erik especially, the characters are very passionate and ultimately very sensual beings. With these two, I see it more as a form of music and desire blended into one chapter. Sorry, I'm getting too philosophical. Just read…please!_

**P.S:** _This is also somewhat of a cruel cliffhanger…sorry! I just enjoy those so much! -Le sigh- I know, I know…I'm such a demented human being… Believe me, I've heard it all before._

**P.P.S:** _Sorry, one more thing…this is a pretty short chapter…just over fifteen hundred words, I believe. This is because I have decided that instead of doing five chapters as I originally planned, I would make it six sections long. So ultimately this is a good thing…if you're enjoying my story, that is. If you're not, then I suppose this would be horrible news, and I implore your forgiveness._

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**OUR PASSION-PLAY**

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I awoke to the touch of water to my cheek. Upon opening my eyes, I saw Erik's face swim above me, shrouded in a darkness broken only by the faint glimmering of candlelight.

He was crying.

Glancing at the journal that still lay flaccidly in his hands, I realized he was on the last page. I looked over the words I had written, suddenly feeling as though this book was not _mine…_ no, certainly not! The thoughts that flowed from those pages…I read them with growing shame of my own pitiful fear. I had forgotten…forgotten that feeling of insufficiency when judging myself against the woman to whom Erik had bestowed all the love in the world.

That woman, of course, was my inner mind…the woman who would have gladly accepted his proposal the moment he asked, no second thoughts. But I had been tainted by the void of my own fears, marked by a child's insecurities. I had to grow up in order to realize the insincerity of my decision; I had to face that woman face to face and _become_ her.

The kiss had solved everything, and secured nothing. But here I was…lying next to him in utter tranquility.

"Fairy tales can have tragic endings…" he said quietly to himself, unaware that I was no longer asleep. He ran a long, pale finger over the words, his eyes flickering in the darkness.

"I don't think any of us are destined to live happily ever after," I murmured in harmony with his voice. He turned his gaze to me, showing no surprise that I was awake. "Is it true?" I whispered into the gentle darkness of his velvet coat. "Is there no hope for us?"

Erik was silent for a moment, lacing his fingers with mine. I saw conflicting emotions pass across those haunting eyes. "That is what Allah had the nightingale believe," he replied softly. He raised my hand to his lips, placing a light, captivating kiss on my fingertips, and I felt the smallest sensation of his tongue against my skin. With his other hand he pulled a scarlet rose from seemingly nowhere, trailing its petals across my cheek.

I stared at the flower, speechless at its inference…the red rose, the offspring of a forbidden love. I looked up at him, an unreadable expression lining his face. He turned away from me, eyes closed. I traced his cheek delicately with my fingers, and he looked back at me, mouth set into a firm line on his shadowy face. Reaching up to him, I touched my lips softly to the corner of his jaw, pressing my palm against his broad shoulders. After a moment, I pulled back and, upon looking into his eyes, saw only beauty…and love.

The conception of the red rose had been inevitable.

Looking back on it, I suppose this was, too.

* * *

I was lost in the golden glow of Erik's eyes. My fingers tucked a loose strand of black hair behind his ear, sliding down his neck and resting on his firm chest. He knew as well as I that there was no turning back after this moment… We had reached a point of no return.

My heart pounded in anticipation, my body trembling in his arms. His hand passed slowly down my arm, meeting my hip hesitantly. I placed my fingers over his, guiding him, pushing him forwards. Our eyes met, and the connection sent a jolt down my spine. There was a fire in that gaze that awoke something deep within me…a presence that my innocence had denied me for twenty years. I worked my way to the depths beneath him and, reaching my hand to the nape of his neck, pulled him down, claiming his lips as my own.

There was glorious music in the very essence of his touch, a chorus of angels at every sweet connection of our bodies. I felt his fingers through my silk blouse, a delicate and sensual coldness melting from his every caress. The faint cry that escaped my lips could not be silenced as his hand passed beneath the lace of my gown and met my bare, shivering skin.

If he felt any hesitation at all in these moments, he did not make it known. Every movement was as smooth and sinuous as the flowing of water, his dexterous fingers dipping and sliding across my quivering body, reminding me vaguely of the fierce passion he used while stroking the keys of the organ that now lay in ruins on the cold floor…

His lips met the swell of my breast, and I gasped aloud. My hands slid down to the tautness of his back, pulling at the jacket which now seemed so useless and futile. He flung it off, seemingly without thinking of the action, and fell back upon me, catching himself on his hands just a few inches from my face. For a moment we stared at each other with ravenous fervor; then he led a stream of soft, luscious kisses from my lower lip to the corner of my cheek, working his way down my neck and meeting the slender curve of my now bare shoulder.

I met his neck with my mouth, my fingers hurrying to unfasten the small buttons that ran down the length of his elegant white shirt. His bare chest glistened in the flickering candlelight, throwing smooth, dancing black shadows across his body. In the kingdom of the night, Erik was sovereign…he ruled this domain, and I was his student. He would teach me well…

Then, in the same instant, we paused. The silence was deliciously torturing as we took in the sight of each other… myself, lying upon the satin sheets with my long brunette mane serving as my only cover, chest rising and falling heavily; he, floating in my vision high above me, looking down at me with breathless wonder. My breath was caught in my throat as I stared at him in all his dark glory. There was no one else in the world at that moment.

Slowly, dramatically, he leaned down upon me and covered me with his body. His mouth was at the base of my ear, and I listened to the staggered, uneven breaths that escaped his lips, tickling my skin. He held my hips against himself, and when we joined, there was an utter, beautiful silence that engulfed us in its veil. I bit down on his shoulder, unable to decide if the pain was excruciating in spite or _because_ of the unspoken pleasure shared between us.

You could almost write a song to the pulsing cadence of our beautifully entrancing tenderness…

It was not the heated ardor I had craved; instead, he was exquisitely serene and beautiful, taking the time to pass his hands over my waist and legs. There was no amount of fiery passion that could ever come close to surpassing the wonderful sensation of being desired as he desired me.

There was a gentle caring in every touch, a delicate reverence in every caress. I wrapped myself around him, clutching him to me…I would not let him go. Not this time…

"Christine…"

His voice was still hauntingly beautiful…the sound of an angel floating on the wings of Heaven…

"Christine, I love you…"

There was a desperate urgency to the words, and he held me tightly in his arms. Please, God, let me stay here.

"You are my world, Erik…my Angel…" I murmured into his ear. "I am lost without you…don't leave me…_please_…"

He released me, and we fell back onto the bed together. His breath was labored, and still he found the strength to leave one last trail of kisses up the center of my chest to my awaiting lips. We stopped, our mouths mere inches from each other. The only sound was his jagged breathing above me. "Thank you, Christine…" he whispered. Erik leaned back against the head board of the bed, and I laid my cheek against his chest, eyes closed.

In the shadows of my approaching slumber, I did not notice the steady slowing of his heartbeat…


	5. Dreams of Beauty

**A/N:** _Quick clarification- this is all being written by Christine in her journal. I don't explain that until later, but it's important that you know at the beginning. My writing in this chapter is very "stream-of-conscious"-ish. –Le sigh- I suppose that's what I get for paying attention in English class. Oh well, I guess tenth grade has not been a waste after all!_

**P.S: **_I'm planning one last installment after this one…so this isn't the last chapter, just to let everyone know._

**P.P.S:** _Again, thanks for all the reviews! Keep 'em coming!_

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**DREAMS OF BEAUTY**

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_My time runs short…_

Already I feel the impending darkness threaten me with its presence, gathering around my eyes and clouding my weak, dimming vision. The end is so different from what I had expected…

Erik once spoke to me about Death, how He is not biased…how you should not try and flee from Him. At the time I had been horrified by his words, shocked into silence by his cold, detached tone, but I had dismissed his tirades as nothing more than the desperate ravings of a desperate man. _Death is quite approachable,_ he had said. _There is nothing to fear… I have found myself looking forward to His arrival on a number of occasions…when I am alone…_

I understand now, Erik. I have spent sixteen years without the comfort of your touch, and I finally understand.

* * *

The memory of that day has stayed with me through all these long years…burning brightly in my thoughts, refusing to retreat into the far corners of my mind. I am forever haunted.

I awoke to an unimaginable coldness. The shivers that consumed me in their blanket of tremulous existence traveled up and down my spine like fingers of ice. In my slumber I had been dead, an irresponsive unconsciousness that held me in the grasps of suspended darkness. And still, in the back of my mind, there was the single glow of a symbolic candle…a flame of pure, untainted love for the man who now slept peacefully beside me…

"Erik," I murmured, placing my hand gently on his shoulder. Almost immediately I recoiled…there was an unnatural coldness to his bare skin, like running my hand over a block of ice. Erik had always been cold, yes, but _this_… I wrapped my arms around my chest, hugging myself fiercely. "Erik, wake up…"

He did not.

I placed both hands on his chest and shook him violently. "You're scaring me, Erik…" My voice had begun to rise unsteadily. "If this is another one of your cruel experiments, I will never forgive you!" His eyes remained shut, and I knew suddenly that if I did not see those golden irises, I would most certainly go insane. I had to prove to myself that he was only joking…that soon he would sit up, that beautifully alluring smile on his lips, and wrap his arms around me, never letting me go. "Erik!" I pulled his eyelid open with one finger.

Death stared back at me, and I could not even manage a scream.

There was no life in those eyes that had once burned with intensity…there was no life there at all…

I did not know what to do. For the life of me, _I did not know what to do._ He was not dead…he could not be dead. Erik was immortal…there was too much power in him to be extinguished with the simple stopping of his heart. He was not just flesh and blood, he was not just human…he was above us all. He could not die a mortal's death; I would not _let _him die a mortal's death! I took him into my arms and rocked back and forth, back and forth, whispering to him wordlessly. I told him that he was an Angel, I told him he was eternal, I told him I loved him.

Back and forth, back and forth…

I would not will the tears to come. Why would I? He was not dead! There was no reason to cry! I heard a chilling giggle escape my lips, a hysteric and desperately insane laugh rise up in my throat like bile. I was being silly! Erik was not dead…no, see? There he was, smiling at me, looking up at me with those beautiful golden eyes…those eyes…

Suddenly I stopped and stared into his face. He was not smiling, and he was not looking at me…his eyes were not even open. His mouth was open just a crack, but when I put my face against his lips, there was no breath to caress my cheek. I inhaled sharply…and smelled Death.

I had never smelled Death before.

And that was when cold, sickening, mind-numbing reality took a hold of me, clutching me its dead, rotting grasp and staring at me with lifeless eyes. My mouth opened in a silent shriek.

My Angel of Music was dead.

My _Erik_ was dead.

No!

I beat against his chest with my tiny fists, the tears finally escaping my eyes in defeat of my relinquished, unfounded hope. No! No! _"No!"_ I had not even awakened! Had Death come _that_ swiftly for him, sweeping him off into the blackness of the night without even a word or a whisper? My hands grew numb as I pounded relentlessly on him, tears streaming down my cheeks, my eyes wide and wild in matchless, wordless grief.

"How _dare_ you leave me? You said you loved me…but you _lied_ to me! Why did you lie?" The cries were choked, one by one escaping my lips as I clung to his cold, lifeless arm. _"Why_, Erik? Why? What did I do wrong?" The hushed screams were taking their toll on me…silently I curled up against him, a tiny huddled form shivering against a frozen Angel. I pressed my mouth to his arm, the icy coldness wilting all feeling in my lips. Again and again I kissed him, wishing that perhaps somehow I could breath life back into his soul.

_"Please, God, bring him back to me and I promise to be good forever…"_

I whispered the pleading prayer against his skin over and over, clinging to his arm and to the despondent, despairing hope that maybe someone would care enough to listen…

I have found that you were right after all, Erik… Tragic endings are inevitable. No one, least of all me, is worthy of reaching the last line of those beautifully simple fairy tales.

There is no such thing as 'happily ever after.'

Gingerly I slipped my hand inside his, entwining my fingers with his limp, motionless ones. And as I did so, I felt something buried in his grasp…something familiar…

I sat up, the wrinkled piece of paper in my trembling hand. The tears were frozen on my cheeks, my eyes round and pale as the moon as I read over the words. I recognized them immediately…Erik had been so fond of _A__ï__da,_ you see. We must have sung it a hundred times together, our duet flawless and pure. He had been especially drawn to the young heroine of the story, the girl who chose death over a life without love…

**_My heart foreseeing your condemnation, into this tomb I made my way by stealth, and here, far from every human gaze, in your arms I wished to die._**

I do not know how long I sat there beside him, reading and rereading the line, my lips moving along with the words. The last of my tears remained unshed, and after a moment, I leaned down towards his face, my hand gently stroking his withered skin with unspoken tenderness. I placed two light kisses on each closed eyelid; then, slowly, I pressed my lips to his, my eyes fluttering shut as I savored what I knew would be our final kiss.

_In your arms I wished to die…_

For a moment I thought I saw him smile in the darkness.

* * *

He had wished to be forgotten…

Sometimes memories are all we have to live on.

But other times, they are not.

I see him in every waking moment, and it is slowly killing me as assuredly as it fills my heart with bittersweet joy. There is no doubt in my mind that the beautiful irony in my son's existence was in some way an answer to the prayer I so desperately whispered the day after his conception. It would seem that God does indeed work in mysterious ways…

Charles grows to be more and more like his father with every passing day. The music that pours from a soul destined for greatness brings tears to my eyes, and I hide my face from my dear Raoul at every concert. Sometimes I must even excuse myself before he is finished playing… The similarities between them have been a beautifully chilling paradox of torture and release.

He has grown up happily as the son of a Vicomte for sixteen years. There is no suspicion in his eyes when he calls Raoul 'father,' for there has never been any reason to doubt his lineage. But my loving, devoted husband… Matters are quite different with him.

I have tried to convince myself that he does not know…I have told my doubting thoughts that he remains ignorant. And yet my mind's pleadings are shattered every time he meets my eyes with that distant, pondering expression. He knows, and there is nothing I can do about it.

To say my life has been empty and meaningless would be to speak an untruth. I have known countless joys, and I have enjoyed many a glorious day, ending with long, peaceful, dreamless nights. Charles has held Raoul and I together…Charles, who could have been our destruction, is our common ground. I love them both, and I have known contentment.

But my soul grows weak, my spirit, forever longing.

I will welcome the inevitable with open arms.

Somewhere in my mind, I hear the soft, gentle whisper of his voice, and my lips curl upwards slightly, eyes closed. He had such glorious music… My smile falters a bit as a distinct memory floats through my thoughts, much like a shadow drifts aimlessly through the darkness.

* * *

_"Madame…"_

_It had been a warm day, colorful and bright in its beauty. Charles had just finished a recital, and I watched as Raoul congratulated him awkwardly. I remained in my seat, feeling the gentle spring breeze caress my cheek. 'Christine…'_

_"Madame?"_

_I looked up to see a woman in a wheelchair sitting beside me, staring at me with an intensity that caught my attention and held me in its grasp. She must have been in her eighties, perhaps even in her nineties. In her lap she held a small handkerchief, and she pressed it to her mouth from time to time, hands trembling. Pure, snow white hair fell in cascades around an emaciated, mouse-like face, and her lips were pressed into a tremulous line._

_"Yes?" I said softly._

_She paused, glancing at my son with wide eyes. "The boy who just played…you are his mother?" she asked. I was taken aback by the strength of her voice… I had fully expected to have to lean in close to her face in order to hear what it was that she was saying._

_"Yes, I am Christine de Chagny." I held out my hand lightly, and she took it, her fingers cold yet her grip surprisingly firm._

_"My name is Marie Perrault." The old woman sat back against her wheelchair, looking once again in the direction of my family. She pointed to Raoul with a pale, ghostly finger, glancing at me from over her thin, skeletal shoulder. "And he is the boy's father?" _

_"That is my husband, Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny."_

_"…His father?"_

_I blinked, finding I still could not hide my slight hesitation before replying to that question. "Yes, his father."_

_The old woman sighed, her gaze drawn back to Charles. "Your son is a stunning musician," she murmured, not meeting my eyes. "That requiem he played…a particular triumph. I could have sworn I had heard it before…" My brow furrowed, and she caught it out of the corner of her eye. "It's remarkably similar to a version I heard many, many years ago…written by the greatest composer in the world." She laughed, but the sound was filled with an incurable sadness. "Would you believe he was only seven when he wrote it? Only seven…" For a moment I had disappeared in her mind, for I could see that she was lost in her own memories, thinking back to a time before us._

_"Seven?" I repeated hesitantly, hoping to bring her back to the present. "That is incredible…"_

_She smiled sorrowfully. "He was a genius, Madame. A composer, an architect, a magician…all before the age of eight. And a ventriloquist, too, Madame! Oh, he gave Madeleine quite a fright on a number of occasions…" She continued speaking, again being swallowed up by her thoughts._

_I stared at her. Madeleine… Where had I heard that name before? Madeleine…Madeleine…_

_"Madeleine…" My eyes flew open. "Erik!" The old woman looked up at me sharply._

_"What did you say?" she whispered._

_"You were talking about Erik! His mother…his mother's name was Madeleine…" I watched as Marie pressed the handkerchief to her lips, eyes closed. "He was the composer of whom you spoke…"_

_"Erik…" she murmured softly. "Yes. Erik… There will never be another person like Erik, Madame. How is it that you know him?" I stared fixedly at my hands, inhaling deeply. I opened my mouth to speak, but the old woman cut me off. "The boy is an exact image of Erik's father, Charles. Strange…a strange coincidence, Madame." She smiled softly, eyes fixed on my son. I looked up at Charles, his eyes bright and lively in the sunlight. I remembered seeing those eyes somewhere else… I turned back to Marie Perrault, but she had disappeared. I caught a last glimpse of her as she wheeled herself through the crowd of music-hungry viewers. I returned my gaze to Charles, and he waved congenially at me. I could only manage a light nod, too consumed in my own thoughts to acknowledge…_

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He still manages to haunt me…even now, after all these years.

My black leather journal lays in my lap, feeling twice as burdensome against my legs as it really is. I stare at my ashen fingers, running my left hand over my right absently. Sometimes I wonder if Erik would even recognize me now…I have changed so much…

Sixteen years ago, I asked Erik to take me with him. I had begged and pleaded, wishing to be whisked away from a world of spinning idleness and unappreciated beauty. He had come for me then, bringing me down into his kingdom of music. Perhaps he would listen once more…

I am losing the strength to write. This illness has taken me apart, piece by piece, until I have been reduced to nothing but a mere shadow of what I once was. I long for an Angel to come sweep me off my feet and carry me to the heaven that I have so desperately desired. I wish-


	6. Epilogue: Her Teacher

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**EPILOGUE: _HER TEACHER_**

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My name is Nadir Khan, and I am haunted by a ghost.

…Or perhaps Christine's "Angel of Music" is a more appropriate term.

It is quite fitting that in death, he remains the legend he had longed to be in life. I still hear his voice in my mind, his otherworldly existence penetrating my every thought. I do not believe in apparitions as by rule of my faith in Allah, praise him, and the paradise that awaits his believers after death. But to deny Erik's eternal presence is to deny my own eyes, my own ears…my own heart.

This is something I cannot do.

I have not, nor will I ever, make excuses for Erik's actions. I have never pretended to have any inkling to what went on inside that dark, distorted mind… All I know is that I have forgiven him, and when he weighs on my thoughts, all feelings are ones of brotherly love. He rescued my only son from inexorable suffering, and he abandoned his own happiness for the life of another. He has seen the most devastating brutality in the world, and from that bloomed a mind overflowing with the cruel understanding of the world. I have often wondered if he knew even one moment of pure, unadulterated joy before having met Christine…before having known the tortures and beauty of love.

Erik's death marked the end of an era in my life, a time when I was met with so many new understandings about the darkness of the human soul, the ability to change, and the metamorphosis of my own mind. I have been altered by his existence, and his death has put a few of my guilt-ridden thoughts to rest. Now, without Erik, I have a certain emptiness inside me, a thirst for a perpetual knowledge that will never be quenched.

I do not know how long I stood outside of the de Chagny residence, looking up at the formidable marble pillars with a mixture of dread and morbid curiosity. My presence could be seen as intrusion…perhaps even an unfriendly reminder of a long forgotten past. Would she remember?

_"I will not be remembered!" he cried, picking up his rosewood violin in his skeletal fingers and flinging it forcefully across the room. I watched as it hit the wall with a sickening crunch and splintered into pieces. "I will not!" The candelabras met a fate similar to the violin. "I will not!" As did the bookshelf. "No one will recall the name Erik, no one will think of me as anything but a fleeting ghost, and the legend will fade until it is dead and rotting beneath this Godforsaken earth." He threw a small footrest into the center of his magnificent pipe organ before pausing, staring at the devastation before him. I heard a deep sigh escape his lips. "The Phantom will be nothing but a dissolving memory."_

_He bent over to retrieve a small picture frame from its place on a small table, his movements brusque and uncaring…but then he stopped, looking down at the photograph. For a moment he stood, motionless, simply…stared. His fingers slid over the frame softly, his touch smooth and caressing. With sudden hostility, he tossed it to the floor, the glass shattering into tiny pieces._

_I stood in the center of the doorway, shrouded in my dark blue cloak. Even if I had not been there, I am fairly certain he would have raved anyways. He did not acknowledge my presence, and the wild movements of his eyes suggested no awareness. All he saw was a life that needed to be erased from history. He crossed the room with four fluid steps and picked up the manuscript of the opera he had spent almost all his life composing._

_"Erik!" I dashed across the room, closing my fingers over the sallow yellow parchment. "You cannot destroy **this…"**_

_He looked up at me with burning intensity, and I released the papers without thinking, taking an involuntary step backwards. With his gaze unwavering from my face, he tore the document in two neat, even halves. "Do you want me to tell you the ending?" he asked softly. "Don Juan does not Triumph…he loses everything, and soon, he is forgotten. Do you see the beautiful irony in that?"_

_He paused for a moment, breathing deeply through his mouth. Slowly he made his way over to the black leather couch, perhaps the only piece of furniture in the room- or the whole house, for that matter- left untouched. With careless grace, he slumped down into the dark bowels of the chair, his elbows propped up on his knees. He rubbed his temples distractedly, and through the eyeholes of his mask, I saw his eyes were squeezed shut._

_"He would not let her come…of **course** he would not let her. What kind of hopeless fool would he be if he permitted his fiancée to come back to the lair of a madman?" he whispered._

_I did not respond right away, instead staring at him with heartfelt pity. "She will return…" I murmured._

_He snorted indignantly. "I don't want your pity, Daroga. You know as well as I that she isn't coming…" A sigh flew past his lips, his breathing low and shallow. "Why…why would…?" His hand clutched the neckline of his white shirt as his chest heaved, up and down, up and down…_

_"Erik?"_

_He did not reply, his eyes glazed and unresponsive, mouth quivering. His long, spider-like fingers gripped his collar, a powerful shudder passing through his body. "She…she doesn't…" he gasped, trying to finish his though._

_I stood quickly, leaning over him and seizing his shoulders, my knuckles turning a ghastly white. "Erik!"_

_It began in his hands, this violent jerking of his body. I watched as the uncontrollable tremors traveled up his arms and overtook his chest. I held his shoulders firmly, horror dripping through my system as I watched this man, this unquestionable genius, succumb to his first and only master…slow, unavoidable death. I pulled him to his unstable feet, dragging him uncoordinatedly across the room and into the maze of corridors. I pushed my weight against a door, praying it would be unlocked, and it flew open behind me._

_There was a single small, flickering candle in the corner, orange flames dancing across the wick with graceful ease. I heaved Erik onto the bed that sat against the wall, and I saw with relief that the convulsions had begun to fade in their intensity. "She doesn't…love…" he whispered, his eyelids drooping shut as his chest moved up and down steadily._

_I watched him for a long time, silent in my awe of his awesome existence. Even now, as he lingered so close to the peeking edge of his life, there was no mistaking his power. It was in the very air that I took into my lungs, and with each drawing of my own breath, I became more and more aware that even death could not completely expunge that everlasting presence…and I knew his longing to be forgotten could never truly be fulfilled._

_

* * *

_

It's ironic, really, how much I became like the man I had tried so desperately to change. I have made it my business to know things… For example, I knew that the de Chagny's moved to England not long after Erik's death, and that the Vicomte's young bride announced she was with child a few months later…and their son, in turn, grew to be one of the most admired musicians of our era, playing for the royal court before the age of fifteen. _A prodigy,_ they called him.

I also found out that the Vicomtess was dying.

That is why I stood on the doorstep of their English manor, my fist hovering tentatively above the flawless white oak of the door. It was a dreadfully miserable day, the fog so thick that I could barely see the road ahead of me as I drove. The raindrops were as large as the buttons on my jacket, pelting down upon the rooftops in steady, rhythmic beats.

Not for the first time, I questioned my being there.

Perhaps I wanted to put my own memories to rest…perhaps it was a last tribute to a tragically misunderstood man. Whatever it was, it made me ignore the interrogations of my logic and caused me to stand on the porch of a family with whom I had not spoken nor seen in over a decade and a half. _'I hope you are happy, Erik,'_ I thought to myself with an ironic sigh. _'Even sixteen years after your death, you still manage to take control of my conscience.'_

When I knocked on the door, there was a brief moment of indecision, and I seriously considered running back to my carriage and returning to Paris. Before I could get even one foot off the veranda, the door opened and I was greeted by the sight of an utterly exhausted Raoul de Chagny. I stared blankly at him; surely a Vicomte would have a hundred servants scurrying about his residence, eager to turn away unwanted guests such as myself.

There was no moment dedicated to lost memories; I saw in his eyes tired acceptance, no surprise at what must have been an unanticipated arrival. His face had been transformed from that of the man who had been my partner in a rescue mission sixteen years prior; I could see nothing more than a faint glimmer of the young god he had been in his prime. He had the look of a man who had harbored a secret guilt for many, many years…

For a moment we simply stood in silence, staring at the effects time had on the both of us. "Monsieur…" I said quietly, taking of my black top hat and inclining my head to him in respect.

He continued to watch me, hands set firmly behind his back. "You are here to see Christine." It was neither a question nor an accusation…simply a weary statement of the inevitable.

I considered feigning surprise, asking in my ignorance what it was he meant, but when I looked into his eyes, all considerations of falsehood vanished. "Yes," I murmured.

The Vicomte looked down at the ground, rubbing a pale hand over his chin. Slowly, he nodded, refusing to meet my eyes. "This way," he said, leaning against the door and permitting me to enter. I did, looking around at the magnificent splendor that would have caused even the queen to stop and marvel. My eyes swept about the grand foyer, my gaze drawn to the dozens of brilliantly white marble statues, a golden chandelier that rivaled even Garnier's overwhelmingly ornate addition Paris Opera, and a wide, sweeping staircase… Raoul did not acknowledge my awe as he trudged up the steps.

I quickened my pace in order to keep up with him, fearing I would get lost in this maze of hallways that awaited me once we reached the top. I could not catch more than a glimpse of an oil paintings that lined the darkened corridors, feeling the eyes of the de Changy's watching me. The Vicomte stopped outside one of the doors, staring up at the wood with an exhausted sorrow. "What is wrong with her?" I asked quietly, watching as the darkness threw dancing shadows over the deep black-violet bags beneath his mournful eyes.

"The doctors are not completely sure…" he responded, still gazing at the door. His fingers ran over the engravings thoughtfully. "All they know is that she is dying…only a few more weeks of our torture. She is in much pain, Monsieur," he added after sensing my reaction to his words. "And from her pain is born my bitter agony. I can barely stand to look at her…in her suffering…" He sighed. "Charles would not want to see her this way."

He opened the door and motioned for me to go inside. The room was almost completely dark, save the lonely flickering candlestick that sat beside a large, lace-covered bed. Drawing my breath into my lungs, I stepped through the doorway cautiously only to hear the soft click of the door shutting. I turned to find myself alone with a dying woman. The air escaped my lips forcefully, and my legs began to weaken beneath me.

If I were Catholic, I would have crossed myself.

* * *

"Erik?"

Her voice was so weak I had to strain my ears in order to hear her. I looked down at myself to see that I was indeed dressed in a long cape, shrouded in the darkness of the room. Mentally I cursed myself.

"Erik, is it you? Have you come to take me away like last time?" Her whispers were growing in their strength, and I hurried over to the side of her bed before she became hysterical in her hope. "Have you come for me, Erik…? I have waited for you…"

"No, it is not Erik," I said softly, taking her small, delicate hand in my own. "I am Nadir, Erik's…friend." I could not recall ever referring to myself as 'Erik's friend' before that moment, but I suppose it's what I was. "It was I who brought you to Erik before he…" The word _died_ lingered on my lips, but I choked down the thought before it escaped my mouth.

She was silent for a moment, and in the gloom I could see tears glistening in her eyes. They remained unshed. "Yes, I remember you. You were very kind to me. Thank you." Her voice had become a soft whisper once again, and yet I could still hear that hint of angelic singing in her tone. "You are a good man, Monsieur Nadir. Better than most…"

Silence took over us once again. "Madame…" I began, inching away from her slowly. "I really had no business coming here. My prayers and good thoughts are with you and your family." I moved to stand up, but her tiny fist closed around the corner of my coat.

"Please, Monsieur…I have a question." I turned back to her. She stared up at me with wide, pleading eyes, and before I could stop myself, I knelt once more beside her. "Erik told me the most beautiful story once…a story from Persia…" She released me, confident I would not leave. "Could you perhaps tell it to me again? I was so fond of that tale…about the bird and the rose…"

I blinked in surprise. I had told that story to Erik so long ago, when we were staying in Persia. For all the faults he saw in my culture, he had been intrigued by our fables. For a moment I said nothing, unsure of how to begin. "Once upon a time…" I said slowly, watching her face apprehensively. She closed her eyes as a small smile crept onto her lips. Even though she was dying, in those moments she was exquisitely beautiful.

"Once upon a time, there was a nightingale who fell in love with a red rose. The rose, hesitant of the nightingale's affections, closed her petals to him. But when he sang to her, and she found his intentions to be good and pure, she began to return his love." I heard a light sigh escape her lips, and I continued on. "But Allah forbade them from acting on their romance, for their union was never meant to be. The nightingale and the rose ignored His wishes, and from their love was born a single white rose, the most beautiful flower in all the world." A small tear fell from her closed eye, sliding down her cheek gently.

"But no happily ever after," she whispered. I looked down at her, unsure of what to say. "There is another ending to the story, Monsieur." Without waiting for a reply, she began to recite. "Instead of a white rose, their love created another bird, released from the now-opened petals of the red rose. It was the first cuckoo…and when the nightingale…_died_…" She said the last word with such emotion that I leaned away from her slightly. "…the rose raised the cuckoo in another bird's nest, and the cuckoo never learned of his true father." She opened her moonlike eyes, staring at me with an unreadable expression. "And that is why cuckoos never live in their own nests…they are raised by another bird…" Her eyes were distant, and she turned to face the window. "The cuckoo is a beautiful bird."

I swallowed with difficulty. "I never heard that ending before…" I murmured.

She did not acknowledge my words. "Thank you, Monsieur Nadir. I had forgotten that story…" Another tear was released onto her porcelain skin. "I had forgotten everything…" A choked sob flew from her lips, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. "I was beginning to forget his face…and his _voice…!"_ I stared at her, lost in the pity I felt for her and an unspeakable shock. "Oh God, I have been here too long…his face is a dimming memory in my mind, and I try to find it, I reach out desperately…and still, I cannot reclaim it!" The grief in her face was almost unbearable, and I wished I could just turn away. "How much longer must I endure here, Monsieur? Is there no mercy? I am ready…I have been ready since the moment he was taken from me, and _still_ I remain here…the sickness is draining me, but the anguish is what kills me, slowly but surely…"

I clutched her hand in my own, feeling my own hot tears crest my cheeks. She wanted to die; I could see it in her eyes. Her fatal sickness was the last crack of a whip that had been steadily barraging her back for a long time. She was in pain, as was her husband…

From my jacket I removed a small vial. A clear liquid swirled about inside, its appearance like water but its effects drastically different… Opening her hand, I placed it onto her trembling palm. When she met my eyes, I saw that its purpose was not lost to her. "It is your decision," I said, closing her fingers over the vial. "If your grief is as great as you say it is, as it appears on your face and in your words…" I hung my head. "I suspect I am committing a crime, an awful sin…I suppose that to Allah, I am responsible …" I met her eyes. "But to allow you two or three weeks of the utter pain you have demonstrated tonight would weigh on my conscience and my heart far more heavily than giving you that." I nodded towards the glass in her hand. I dropped her hands onto the blanket and stood from my spot, gazing down at her. "I feel as though I owe it to Erik."

She held it up to her eyes, watching as the contents churned about in the vial, staring at it as if it were a strange creature from which she could not look away. "It was one of Erik's concoctions," she stated knowingly, still not able to tear her eyes from the glass.

"Yes," I said softly, nodding. "I have only known him to use it once before…and I have never been able to repay him for it…" A tear spilled down my face. "Perhaps now I can." I moved towards the door, pausing as I reached for the knob. "Your husband is suffering, Madame. He cannot bear to see you in such pain." I pulled the door open, turning back to her one last time. "I believe he has accepted the loyalties of your heart. You are not at fault."

The last thing I saw before leaving the room was Christine, her pale beauty serene and gentle, as she slowly uncorked the vial in her hand. Without another word, I passed into the corridor and hurried away. I passed Raoul in silence, stepping down the staircase and out the front door.

I had just passed through the gates of the de Chagny manor when the rain stopped.

* * *

**A/N:** _Thanks for any and all reviews…if I made you cry, then I give you my heartfelt gratitude… It's always nice to know of emotional reactions from readers. I hope this last chapter wasn't too confusing for you…it made sense in my mind. If you have any questions, simply email me and I'll get back to you._

**P.S:** _I plan on starting my next phic fairly soon…I have it all planned out. While going back over my other stories, I noticed that I haven't really addressed the conflict between Christine and Erik. So my next addition is to be an ALW movie phic (again), EC (as always), rating probably a T (which shouldn't come as a surprise to any of you who have read both my phics), but this one should be more focused on the first time they see each other after 'the incident.' The title is to be **Yearning for Heaven.**_

**P.P.S: **_I have to say thanks again to all my loyal reviewers…those who have followed me through **It's Over** and **Joys of the Flesh.** I remember you all, and I always look forward to receiving feedback from you guys._

_You have truly made my night._


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